


Comhartha

by TwistLimeGreen72



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistLimeGreen72/pseuds/TwistLimeGreen72
Summary: Dagonet is haunted by a spector
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Comhartha

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Axe in hand, Dagonet carefully shuffled forward, stepping onto the glassy surface of the frozen lake, cautiously watching the ice under his feet. He looked up again, just catching a glimpse of red in the still building storm. With another quick glance down, he started to move forward tentatively. The wind picked up, howling even more mournfully as it lifted the snow drifting across the ice to mingle with that already falling. It pulled his heavy cloak back from his shoulders.

The ice groaned under his feet, continuing to shift and crack, quickly drawing his gaze back down. Heart pounding in his chest, he watched as long cracks began forming moving outwards from his feet to create webs as they went. Less than a second later, he lifted his head, squinting against the biting wind and driving snow. He couldn't see her. The urgency he felt turned to something akin to panic. He had to find her.

Lifting an arm to shield his eyes, he moved forward, trying to penetrate the blanket of white. The panic grew when he still saw no sign of her. He continued onward, battling the driving snow and ice. All around him, the wind tore at him and howled, seeming to carry voices on it, warning him to go no further.

Finally, he caught a glimpse of her red cloak.

"Wait," he called, his voice carried away from them on the wind.

The storm weakened for just a moment, and she turned looking at him, the wind wiped long tendrils of black hair around her pale face and tugged at the red cloak she wore. She lifted a hand, gesturing him closer, and then the storm closed in around him again.

It pounded at him, like a battering ram, wiping his cloak out behind him and made each step nearly impossible.

Dagonet froze, lifting his axe as something dark slithered quickly under the ice's surface: something dead stalking him as he walked, sliding along the ice under his feet. It's hand matched him step for step. It's eyes wide, skin rotting like the corpses that littered the many battlefields he'd trodden through.

A scream filled the air reaching him over the storm, and somehow he knew it was her. Dagonet blindly ran in that direction. He hadn't gone more than a step, and he found her.

Hands pounded and clawed at ice under his feet as she desperately tried to gain her freedom. Air bubbles gurgled out of her mouth as she yelled again as they slipped away under the ice. Dagonet yelled, swinging his axe, he brought it down with a hard blow. Shards of ice flew into his face as he brought his axe down again.

This time the ice gave way, Dagonet fell to his knees, axe discarded beside him as he threw himself down and reached into the freezing water.

Hands grabbed at him through the ice, pulling him down. He struggled, throwing his weight backward to pull her up. Hands grabbed his head, turning it as the face looked into his eyes.

It was her, he hadn't seen her face clearly, but somehow he knew it was her. Water slipped along her face and dripped from her hair. It was as though she said his name. Whispered it softly, though her lips didn't move. She kissed him gently, brushing her lips against his own as the storm raged around them.

He opened his eyes seconds later to find that it wasn't her at all but the other creature. Rotting bloody lips kissed his, blood and rot smearing across his face. Dagonet gagged, trying to push her away.

More hands came grabbing hold of his armor and cloak, pulling, pulling, and pulling him into the water.

Dagonet sat up quickly on his pallet, awash in sweat. The heavy furs he'd been sleeping under pooled around his thick waist. He reached up, scrubbing his hands down his face, and took a deep breath willing his heart to a less erratic pace. The macabre image of her face as it transformed from beauty to something dark and evil filled his head.

He didn't know who she was: The girl with dark hair he saw running through the snow, continually watching over her shoulder. As many times as she had visited his dreams, she began to feel real when he was awake.

And he felt like they were connected. He couldn't not, the terror she felt was so real as was her need for him. The connection was so vivid that Dagonet had awoken many times and found himself surveying his surroundings and searching for her face.

Certain things about the dream changed, but some things were always the same. There was always snow and ice; she was still fleeing from something or leading him somewhere.

She was terrified.

The older woman who lived an hour or, so southeast of the wall with her grandchildren said the girl could be the bánánach: the spirit that haunted the battlefield or Badhbh. The goddess of war in the old religion. The old woman told the creature was a part of The Morrigan. The triple goddess and her visit foretold of a coming battle. As always since the moment he met this old woman, that rain-soaked night nearly fifteen years ago, Brehen looked at him in such a way that made him think she understood far more than she would say. She was regarded as a wise woman and had been a voice of wisdom in the old ways to her people despite the Romans. She had given him a charm to wear. Brehen said no matter what the creature was, her coming signified death.

Without realizing it, Dagonet touched his ever-present ring with his thumb. Dagonet's own people had their similar myths, stories of battlefield specters, and harbingers of death. His father's ring he wore every day since he left his home was his own talisman. It had stayed in his mind that he had nearly finished his years of service to the Romans.

Whatever she was, whoever she was, their connection was so real Dagonet had found himself watching for her. For a glimpse of a red cloak and raven hair and a beautiful face.

Thanks for reading.


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